Chapter 1 #2
She laughed. Pointed at him, then headed toward the door. Turned. “Oh, by the way, Axel said that Deke Starr from the Copper Mountain sheriff’s office called him looking for you. Said he’d left a couple messages on your phone.”
He sank his head into his hands, bracing his elbows on the island.
Caspian came up, tail wagging. Put his head on his knee.
Everybody just needed to . . . Calm down. He was fine.
“Wait—is he trying to recruit you?” She pulled out a stool. “Seriously?”
He sighed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” He turned to her. “I don’t know if I’ll be back in action down here—”
“People get knee replacements all the time—”
“My knee was completely blown out. It’s a little more than a knee replacement for a fifty-year-old.”
She held up her hand. “I know. I remember. It scared all of us to death. We were praying you didn’t lose your leg, but . . . you’re seriously going to go from tracking down kidnappers and stalkers and rape victims to giving out parking tickets in Copper Mountain?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry. It’s just—”
“My mother is moving back to Copper Mountain.”
She stilled, frowned. “Um . . . and . . .”
“And it’s not easy. There are memories, you know.”
She drew in a breath. “Right. Your sister. I forgot she was one of the early victims of the Midnight Sun killer.”
“Yeah. Finally, case closed. And Mom feels like maybe it’s time to come back. But . . .”
“You think the memories will haunt her.”
“Don’t they always?”
She swallowed. Shrugged. “Depends, I guess, if you make peace with them or not.”
He put his hand on Caspian’s head, the soft fur between his fingers.
Tried to keep his voice from shaking. “My fifteen-year-old sister was killed by a serial killer. For years, we didn’t know what happened.
I came home from summer camp, and she was gone, just like that.
My parents fell apart, got divorced, and . . . yeah, we’re a long way from peace.”
She stared at him.
Okay, so he didn’t know where all that heat came from. “Sorry.” He schooled his voice. “I guess . . . hopefully all that is changing, and I’m thinking I should be there for that. I dunno.”
“I’ve learned that when people want redemption, they go home. Maybe this is your mom’s way of trying to make peace.”
Her hand found his, and he glanced at it, frowned. But she didn’t pull away.
He gave her a look.
She smiled at him. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m not falling off the planet.” He pulled his hand away. “Your boyfriend’s parents live in Copper Mountain, coz. I’m sure you’ll do your own haunting of me.”
“Oh, you betcha.” She patted Caspian. “I’ll let you go on one condition.”
“I didn’t realize we were negotiating.”
“Do you want me to haunt you or not?”
He managed a slight smile.
“You take this guy with you.” She nodded toward the dog. “Because he’s got his eye on you. And if anyone can keep you safe, it’s Caspian.”
“He’s got his eye on my socks. And my dinner.” But he looked at the animal’s brown eyes glancing at him. “But yeah. He’s okay.” He rubbed the dog’s ears. “Aren’t you, bud? Even if you can’t fetch or sit—”
Caspian leaned his head against his leg, moaning at his touch.
“And are completely embarrassing.”
Flynn laughed. “Try and eat something other than a Hot Pocket. And I’m not talking to Caspian.”
Dawson shook his head. “Go fight crime or something. I’m fine.”
“See you ’round, boss.” She headed out the door, into the darkness of the setting sun.
And he sat in the shadows, Caspian’s head on his knee, wishing he hadn’t lied to the one person who still believed in him.
Her ice had long-ago melted into her Coke, watering it down. A good match to her chilly french fries and now-soggy burger.
I’m pitiful.
Keely looked at the text she’d drafted a long moment before, aw, why not? She had no one else to confess to except her manager, Goldie. Which perhaps made her even more pitiful.
She sent it.
Blew out a breath and set down her phone. Clearly the country songs twanging through the speakers of the burger joint didn’t emanate from local radio because she’d heard “She Had Me at Heads Carolina” by Cole Swindell twice, along with “Thought You Should Know” by Morgan Wallen.
Probably a mixed album of all the hits from the last few years picked up at a local bin at a Walmart down in Anchorage, and wow, she’d turned cynical.
Just because she’d landed here—in a backcountry, snow-covered smudge under the shadows of the icy Alaskan mountain range, in a honky-tonk with a moose head overlooking an old jukebox and dartboard, a few locals hunkered up to the long bar—didn’t mean that she belonged here.
She was just passing through Copper Mountain. For a burger. Fries.
To get a good look at her birth mother.
Then, back to reality and all the things that came with that, like Five Seasons room service and maybe a nice, long, heated-rock massage.
A woman came up to the table, her long dark hair pulled back. She wore a long-sleeve T-shirt with Midnight Sun Saloon and Grill across the chest. “You want a refresh on that Coke?”
Her name tag said Shasta, like the soda company.
Keely nodded, smiled, tried to communicate a “Yeah. That would be great.” Added a thumbs-up for boost.
“Didn’t like the fries? People come from miles around for one of our baskets.”
All of ten people? She shook away the snark, found another smile, then motioned the waitress closer so she could whisper. “They’re good. Just . . . eyes were bigger than my stomach. It started shouting ‘slow down’ after the first three. But yeah, they’re good.”
“I’d say your stomach probably needs to shut up,” Shasta whispered back. “I don’t think you’re in danger of overeating.” She winked, then picked up the plate. “We have bottomless baskets. Would you like a refresh?”
Keely leaned back against the booth, put her hands on her stomach. “So full.”
“Yeah, those three bites of burger really fill a girl up. We have some great pie. Vic hired this baker out of Anchorage, and she makes fantastic blueberry pie from our preserves. I promise, your stomach will love you.”
Keely sighed. Nodded.
“Attagirl. Can’t let you freeze to death.” She walked away, and Keely had no idea what she meant.
Maybe she referred to her thin white puffer jacket.
So she wasn’t wearing bearskin and leather—she hadn’t intended on putting down roots.
Just a quick trip up to Copper Mountain.
Maybe a . . . conversation. Then back into the little Cessna puddle jumper she’d ridden up in, and she’d get on with her life.
Whatever that looked like.
Her phone pinged and she looked at the text from her manager, although she’d lately turned into a counselor, apparently.
You’re not pitiful. You have questions. And you need answers. Just pretend you’re going on stage, take a deep breath, and walk up to her and say hi.
“Here you go.” Shasta put a piece of pie in front of her. “I warmed it, so the ice cream is a little melty.” She set down a fork. “Don’t wait too long to eat it.”
Keely turned over her phone and nodded. “Thanks.”
Shasta’s gaze flicked off the overturned phone, even as she smiled. “Uh-huh.”
Keely blew out a breath and picked up her fork. Actually, her stomach had been screaming Feed me for the past six hours since leaving Anchorage, but well, her brain had said, What are you doing?
Which made her legs all jumpy, and frankly, she’d nearly run out of the joint twice in the last hour. She looked at her watch. Or, rather, ninety minutes.
Whatever.
Shasta came back with her Coke. Set it down. “You look sort of familiar.”
Keely lifted a shoulder, pointed at the pie, gave a thumbs-up.
Shasta’s mouth opened. “Oh my gosh—you’re Bliss!”
Keely sighed, held up her hand. “Please,” she whispered.
Shasta cut her voice low. “Sorry. But—what are you doing here?”
The very last thing Keely needed was for someone to tweet it out, or post her image on Insta, or grab a side photo for TikTok. “I’m visiting a friend.”
Shasta’s eyes widened. “You have a friend in Copper Mountain?”
Aw. She should have known she’d talked to the one person who probably knew everyone in town. “It’s a surprise. Don’t tell anyone.” She swallowed, her voice still at a whisper. “You’ll find out soon enough, probably.”
True, maybe. Who knew what bio mom would do once she found out?
Except—she glanced over at Vic, the way the woman filled beers, filled orders, and occasionally hollered at locals—who knew?
In fact, part of Keely’s ninety-minute dilemma had been sorting out the veracity of her father’s story.
Vic Dalton. Former cop who gave away her daughter and disappeared into the Alaskan frontier. It had taken a private investigator and a couple thousand dollars to track the woman down.
“Is that why you’re whispering?” Shasta asked.
Not even a little, but Keely nodded. Why not? She didn’t need any other rumors to start.
Bliss is losing her voice. Yeah, that would sell tickets.
She even put a finger to her lips.
Shasta grinned. “I got you.” She winked and walked away.
Keely took another bite of pie. She should have started with this. The sugar hit her veins, adding a surge of hopeful what-ifs.
What if she simply got up and walked over to the bar and introduced herself to the big, tough-looking female barkeep with the blond hair and the take-no-prisoners demeanor? Hello. My name is Keely Williams, and I believe you’re my mother.
She took a sip of her Coke, watching as the woman now talked with one of the locals, a good-looking man, late thirties, who stood next to a smaller woman in braids. She handed them a take-out bag, and they left.
And then, just like that, Vic’s gaze landed on Keely.
Not just landed. Held. And the force of it caught her up, stole her breath, pinned her into place. Vic had blue eyes, not hazel-blue like hers—but for the first time, maybe, she saw her nose on someone else’s face. So that’s where she got that little bump.
Keely looked away, her heart filling her throat, slamming against her chest.
Oh boy.
Nope. Not a chance she could do this. Because really, why again had she traveled a few thousand miles to meet a stranger?
She pushed the half-eaten pie away and reached for her phone.
It buzzed in her hands, and she thumbed open the text.
I got another call from Bryce today. He needs an answer.
Yeah, well, get in line. Life was full of questions, of people needing answers.
Today was not that day.
She put her phone into her satchel propped on the booth seat beside her, pulled out a twenty, and dropped it on the table.
She got up. Turned and ran straight into—oh no, no—Vic.
“Hey,” the woman said.
She had a deeper voice than Keely imagined and spoke with gravel in her tone, as if she might be a smoker. Broad shouldered, thin hipped, with arms that looked like they could break a person, her blond hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail.
And still, she seemed almost concerned, a frown creasing her brows. “I came over to make sure everything was okay. Were you waiting for someone?”
Yes. You.
Keely swallowed. Shook her head. Aw—
“Okay. Well, if you need—”
A shout from near the dartboard, and a flannel-shirted man pushed another man and suddenly tables flipped over and shouts rose—
“Topher—let him go!” Vic headed into the fray, and Keely made a beeline for the door.
Run. It wouldn’t be the first time.
She pushed out into the brisk night, the stars bright in the black sky. Somewhere to the north, the glaciers and mountains rose, routing a frigid wind along the main street. She tucked up the collar of her jacket and pulled out a hat.
Last thing she needed was a bout of pneumonia.
Hiking her satchel over her shoulder, she headed down the street, past a bakery and the twinkle lights of a pizza joint, a grocery store that looked like a house, and then down a side street to the Gold Nugget Inn.
The two-story home had once been owned by some great-grandfather of the owners, Hal and Nora Jensen, who had turned it into a café on the main level but kept a few rooms for rent upstairs.
She took the one with the private bathroom.
It was also the only B and B open for lodging in March.
They’d seemed like a nice couple when she checked in during the daylight, and now the smell of baking bread and the quiet crackle of a fireplace in the front room met her as she entered and headed up the stairs.
It calmed her, a little. Okay, so maybe . . . maybe . . .
Aw. What was she thinking. Stupid idea, thinking her birth mother might have some insight into the biggest decision of her life. Given the looks of the woman, she had as much mothering in her baby finger as Keely did.
“Are you in for the night?”
Keely turned on the stairs and spotted Nora Jensen standing at the bottom. Mid-sixties, wearing an apron, the woman gave off a Marie Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond vibe. A hint of meddling, maybe some overcaring in her smile.
But it wasn’t a bad look for an innkeeper.
“Yes. I—”
“I know it’s dark out, but it’s only six p.m. Would you care for a hot cocoa, or we have a puzzle by the fire that needs attention.”
“Oh. Um.” Keely sighed. “I think I’m heading to bed.”
Nora nodded. “Breakfast is at eight. Have a good night.”
Something about the woman stirred a warmth into Keely’s bones. It reminded her of her grandma, maybe, once upon a time.
She headed upstairs and set her satchel onto the rose-flowered bedspread.
Eyelet curtains hung at the windows, a hurricane lamp pooled light over one dark walnut bedside table, and of course, a Bible sat on the other.
A green Queen Anne chair held a doily at the nape, and with the old Panasonic television, she felt like she might be stepping into her father’s den.
The place held a sense of time captured, revered.
A place to rest.
To stop thinking.
She sat on the bed, toed off her boots, and hung her jacket on the tall bedpost. Then she pulled out her phone and opened her photos app. Scrolled to the right one.
A four-year-old girl with blond hair wisping around her cherub face and sky-blue eyes the color of a perfect day laughed into the picture. She held a dripping ice cream cone, chocolate around her mouth, and a grin that could light up the coldest night.
Zoey. She loved that name—had suggested it, actually—and they’d used it. Zoey Anne Harper. They’d even given her the middle name of Keely’s adopted mother, Anne. She ran her thumb over the chocolate mouth, stared into her eyes.
Gasped.
They looked like Vic’s. Piercing and solid and seeing into her soul.
Keely closed the phone. Stared at the ceiling. Listened to the wind moan and knew in her soul that, indeed, she was a coward.
Like mother, like daughter.